


Beyond Gotham City Limits

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, College, Coping, Gen, Ghosts, Mystery, Photography, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: Leaving Gotham was one of the hardest choices of Tim's life, but in the aftermath of everything Zsasz did to him, Tim knows it's for the best. A chance purchase of a camera at a pawn shop at the edge of town leads Tim down a very different path from the one he thought he'd be following in his first year of college.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sionis](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sionis).



> For JayTimSecretSanta on tumblr.  
> Prompts provided: College AU, Flower Shop AU, or Ghost AU - NSFW is fine - Please include Jason calling Tim baby bird  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: Album "Cataclasm" by Crywolf

The first night in a new place was always strange: the noises are different and the feeling of the bed nothing like the usual. Tim had been to a hundred new places in his life, always obsessively on the move, always venturing down a new path in his life. This was the first time he'd lived on his own and it was _odd_ , hearing not so many _new_ sounds as the lack thereof. Sure, the lone cricket chirped somewhere in the kitchen and the old piping in the run-down little home a few blocks from campus groaned every once in a while. Yes, the occasional car passed on the road outside, tires creating a soothing scrape over the pavement before that, too, was gone. But there was something about not hearing another person's breath as they slept, about not hearing their bed springs creak as they shifted in the night, that left him feeling nothing if not _lonely_.

Rolling onto his side, Tim tugged the thin blanket up over his shoulders, curling slightly in on himself to keep some of the heat in. He'd have to get a new one tomorrow after class. This part of the country was colder than what he was used to, the air _wetter_ in ways that he could only assume would become misery once summer arrived. 

The house settled in on itself with a quiet popping of the old wood and the wind outside his window picked up, leaving a branch to make a _tap tap tap_ against the siding. It should have unnerved him, should have sent shivers sliding down his spine, but it _didn't_. He was quite sure nothing ever would again after the things he'd been through in his last home. Everything had a tendency to put itself in perspective once you'd been a part of Gotham's wretched underbelly's _plot_ to bring down some superhero or other. Once you'd had Zsasz's cool steel against your throat, once you'd felt your own blood run... once you'd realized what it was to _give up_ , everything else seemed to slide into perspective.

The air seemed to cool even more around him and Tim sighed, shoving the covers back and plucking himself from the bed. _To hell with sleep_. It was for the weak anyway. 

Padding through the darkness of the tiny home, Tim found his way into the bathroom, stripping out of his t-shirt and pajama pants and turning on the shower, the heat all the way to max. He left the light off, preferring the dark, only the barest yellow from the streetlight outside shining in the tiny frosted window of his bathroom. He pushed the door closed to keep the steam in and stepped into the shower, letting it drench his front before he turned and ducked his head under the spray of the water, just enjoying the way it heated him from head to toe. 

Blindly, he reached for the single bottle of shower gel that doubled as shampoo and dumped a healthy amount into his hand, shoving it back on the ledge and starting to lather his hair. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he found a memory to replay, one that didn't dredge up the anxiety some of the more recent ones tended to. The scent of a similar gel, another shower, another time; hands over his body and a mouth warm against his own. His heart beat quicker as he huffed out a quiet laugh into the silence of the room. Of course he'd go right toward that memory, to the one thing that still got his heart racing like a teenager, despite the eight years that distanced him from such a title. 

Tipping his head back, he let the suds he'd rubbed all over his hair and body start to wash away, closed his eyes and listened to the sound of it going down the drain.

When he was sure the soap had all gone, he turned off the shower and pushed back the flimsy clear curtain, stepping out onto the fluffy new mat he'd picked up at the dollar store down the street from the college earlier in the day. His fingers plucked the threadbare old towel from the rack and he began to dry himself, flicking his gaze around the room until they landed on the door. 

His heart gave a sluggish little _thud_ and Tim sighed. He was _sure_ he'd closed it, but that didn't tend to mean anything in little old houses like this. Loose hinges and horrible foundations usually made for some oddities and he supposed it was expected that the least convenient room would be the one to do such things. 

Shrugging it off, he finished drying off, reaching for the shopping bag of stuff he'd tossed on the counter earlier in the day, rooting until he pulled out the tiny travel hair dryer. Plugging it in, he flicked the switch and pointed it at his hair, rubbing his other hand through the mess of it, closing his eyes and just enjoying the sensation of it.

Once his hair was dry, he pointed it downwards, waving it over his torso and up under his arms and then _lower_ , making sure to press the little cool air button before he did so. Releasing it, he let it heat up a tiny bit and then flicked it off, reaching to unplug it. His hand tightened around the cord right next to the plug and he froze, eyes on the mirror, watching the swirl of white behind him. It wasn't fog and he knew exactly what it made him _think_ of, despite any further lack of evidence toward it. 

Tilting his head slightly, he regarded the swirl of white as it grew brighter and then dimmed to nearly transparent, nearly _ignorable_. He plucked his glasses up from the counter top, sliding them on and turning just enough to see the edge of whatever this was, reached his hand out to pass his fingers through it, finding it cooler by several degrees. 

Pulling the door the rest of the way open, he skirted around the cooler spot, and meandered back toward the bedroom. Plucking out his warmest outfit, he tugged on the new boxer briefs, tight black jeans, and a red t-shirt before adding his black hoodie to it, the golden image across the back of a large spread-winged robin.

He shoved his feet into his lined loafers and picked up his camera, flicking it on and turning to make his way back toward the bathroom. But he didn't make it a single step further than that, turning to find the faint image of a young man half-formed in the whiteness. Raising his camera up, he carefully grasped the lens and focused, snapping a few pictures before he breathed out a quiet, "I _see_ you."

The image solidified for a single instant and Tim snapped a picture, the quiet click of it putting a smile on his lips as he moved the camera down and simply studied what he was now certain was a _ghost_. It seemed, some things would never change and his life on the edge of _belief_ was one of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: Album "Cataclasm" by Crywolf

It was still early in the morning, but Tim had never felt more wide awake in his entire life. Of course, the five shots of espresso in his morning coffee may have had something to do with it, or perhaps the protein powder he'd added to it. More likely than all of that, it was actually the fact that by the time he'd fallen asleep the night before, it had been with a _ghost_ wavering in and out of form at his bedside. 

Even now as he removed the photo paper from the developer, agitating it in the stop bath and transferring it to the fixer, he felt _giddy_. It probably wasn't how most people reacted to finding out they'd rented a house so cheaply because it had a ghost in it, but in Tim Drake's world, this was just an added bonus to his usual everyday life. The fact that he got to study something so outside of the realm of normal _and_ got a good break on the rent actually put him in a grand mood as he transferred the second photo, having let it bathe a bit longer in the developer. 

Plucking out the first image, he rinsed it and then reached to clip it up on the clothesline strung along the entire back wall and turned to transfer his second image from the stop bath into the fixer tray.

Humming to himself, he shifted to the other roll of film that actually contained his classwork, gently shifting the film, squinting at a few of the images on it and smiling. He was sure at least a few of them were useable for his first assignment, though they had yet to have officially been given them yet. Just from what the syllabus said, it seemed he might get a jump on something with this, regardless.

The revolving door squeaked as it turned and someone stepped into the room, footsteps heading toward the alcove he was tucked in and he cleared his throat, not wanting to scare the shit out of whoever it was when they rounded the corner. He heard the steps pause and then, "Hello?"

"Hi!" He stepped out of the alcove, finding his professor standing there, her hair pulled up into a massive poof of hair atop her head. 

They regarded one another for a moment and then she let out a quiet laugh. "Getting a jump on the semester are we?"

"Had some film to develop and a few images I wanted to get printed. Don't worry, I brought all my own supplies, just needed the facilities." Tim shrugged, leaning back against the counter, hands holding his clothing away from the metal sink. "Thought it best not to use any of the stuff for this class if I was working outside of classroom bounds."

She shifted a roll of film from one hand to the other and held out her hand. Tim wiped his on the little towel he had tucked into his hip pocket and took hers, shaking it firmly. "Tim, was it?"

"Yes ma'am." 

A light airy laugh freed itself from her lips and she turned to head into the darkest little alcove. "I'll see you in class then, Tim." With that, she tugged the door closed on the pitch black little room, built for transferring film to the development container, leaving Tim alone in the faint red of the safe light. 

Rinsing his second photo, Tim clipped it up to the line and pulled a stool over to his film, settling on it to carefully peruse the images along the strand as best he could in the semi-darkness of the room. Picking one he knew he'd messed up on, he pulled his Sharpie from his pocket and carefully wrote _Tim D_ across it before pushing himself off the stool and reaching to unclip his images. Holding one in each hand, he walked to the revolving door, stepping into the small space and using his foot to turn the door so that he stepped out into the hallway's flickering light. The next room over, he laid his photos out on the table, settled small weights on the opposing corners of the images and turned on the small dryer, holding it well above the paper and flicking it on, slowly spreading the air across the two pages. 

The first image looked as though Tim had simply had fog in his apartment, perhaps as if he'd lit incense somewhere off-page and then taken a photo of it. The second, however, was closer to undeniable, the faintest image of the young man forming from the white swirl of mist. He smiled as he watched the photos dry, a certain slither of happiness dancing down his spine as he stared at the page. 

Once upon a time, he'd been a mystery, waiting to be solved - chained to a wall in some dark warehouse, bait for a nearly successful trap - but _now_ he had his own mystery to solve. Who was this person? Why was he haunting Tim's house? Beyond all of that... _how_ was Tim seeing him?

Settling the dryer into its cradle, he pushed the weights aside and picked up the photos, taking them to the other table, trimming them neatly, and then tucking them into his portfolio. Sliding it into his bag, he hitched it over one shoulder and turned toward the door, head held high, a light in his eyes that had been missing for _years_. 

Sometimes... the world worked in mysterious ways.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: Album "Cataclasm" by Crywolf

Dozens of photos lay spread out around Tim on the bare wooden floor of his living room. He sat on the only rug, cross-legged, a few candles flickering along the otherwise empty shelving of the room. A laptop lay on the floor next to him, a dozen plus tabs open from his investigation into who this apparition was. His phone played a quiet mix of music, erratically changing between classical, pop, and something that verged on death metal in a variety of languages that went well past the handful he knew on his own. 

The heat kicked on and Tim spared the vents a glance, grateful that it was up and running tonight. He clicked absently at the game he was playing on his small tablet, something that was only there as a way to distract the forefront of his mind while the rest delved further into this particular little mystery. 

He'd brought up all the pages regarding the previous owners of this house, all of the times the police had been called to the location, and any unexpected events, such as sudden necessity for exterminators or odd purchases on the credit cards of the owners he could find. Nothing had really seemed out the ordinary and the only exterminator case he'd found had been for roaches and the elderly couple living here at the time had simply put the roach guy on call to come twice a year and spray for the three years they'd been living in the home. 

There was one death, the elderly woman, at the ripe old age of ninety two and her husband had moved into a nursing home afterward, died a year later there. Each other family had moved in with the same number of people who had been registered at the next home they'd taken residence in, and the only large purchases had been for a repair to the storm door in the back and a fridge for one family of four who had moved in. 

Absolutely nothing on insurance pointed to any sort of claims such as someone falling on property and getting hurt enough to require medical attention, and nothing jumped out at Tim about any of the occupants that seemed to point toward them being criminal in some aspect or other. The ones with kids all had children who were accounted for, currently out in the world and alive, and no one from the surrounding block had gone missing in the past twenty years, and Tim wasn't sure he could dig back much further than that without someone getting achingly suspicious of why he was digging. 

Winning the level with top score, Tim saved and exited the game, letting the tablet rest on his lap as he gazed toward the bathroom door. Finally, almost hesitantly, he asked, "Are you here?"

The air grew colder and then the papers to his left shuffled a bit and Tim jerked his head toward the sound, finding the wavering form of the young man standing there. This time, Tim could see more about him, could see the billow of something behind him he supposed was - perhaps - a blanket or draping of some sort, the tightness of his shirt and pants suggesting workout clothing. His hair shadowed his face and one arm held tight against his body. It was then that Tim took in the way he was standing, the barely-held up exhausted stance, and he let out a soft sigh of breath. 

Reaching out, he pushed the papers away to form an area right in front of him where the ghost could settle - if that was even a _thing_ for ghosts. He offered a tiny smile and gestured. "Can... can you sit?"

The air seemed to crackle and then the young man was seated in front of Tim, very much mirroring his own position. Tim studied him, taking in the glossy fluid that had trailed down the side of his face, the way one part of his hair seemed matted, and he deducted it was blood. His gaze flickered down to where his arm was clutched against him, saw the odd angle of his arm and _knew_ he'd either been hit with something, or beaten given the positioning of the injuries. His gaze traveled over the clothing again, finding little pixie boots on his feet and his heart _sank_ , eyes jerking back up to his chest. Tim leaned forward on his hands and peered hard at the _uniform_ , finding the half-ripped off **R** on his chest. 

Settling back, he let out a low whistle and breathed out, "Robin... you're _him_. But... Gotham's so far from here, why... why would you-" he cut himself off, breath sticking in his throat as he reached behind him for his bag, dragging it off the only chair in the room, plucking his camera from it and slowly turning it over in his hand. He'd picked it up on the way out of Gotham, used and sitting on a shelf for such a small price for what it was. The owner had given him a wary look when he'd passed him the money for it, but hadn't said a word to him. 

Tim slowly turned it over in his hands, finding the tiny inscription on the base of it. 

_For J. From D. You'll find your dreams._

It was tiny, so tiny Tim could barely read it and it seemed like someone had worked hard to hide it away in the same box as the serial and model numbers. Trembling, Tim stood up, dashed into the other room and wrenched the canister down that held the roll of film that had been in it when he'd gotten it. He'd meant to develop it for just for shits and grins, but he hadn't gotten to it, hadn't thought of it as anything more than a minor mystery and honestly probably would have forgotten, _except_....

His bare feet barely made a sound on the floor as he crossed it, knelt back down in front of the boy and settled the camera between them, held out the film to show him. He watched the figure tuck his head against his chest and watched him tremble. 

Tim pulled his hand back, tucked the film into his bag to develop tomorrow, making a mental note not to toss the canister, in case that was what was holding Robin here. 

Sliding closer to him, Tim reached out his hand, held it just above where Robin's rested on his thigh, a thigh with ripped and tattered material and Tim _realized_ Robin was growing worse right in front of his very eyes. "Robin... listen to me... you're here. This isn't _that place_ , okay? It's my home and you're _welcome_ here."

He watched the tear in Robin's suit slowly fade away, watched the glossy patch that had been coming down from under his arm recede, and he settled back on his heels, knowing just how stricken his own face was right then. 

His little mystery was Gotham's greatest tragedy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: Album "Cataclasm" by Crywolf

Tim sat on the stool in the room next to the darkroom, his film spread out over the table, each cut into 5 images, neatly labeled with a tiny number in the upper right of each strip, using a silver gel pen. His own sheets lay on the left and Robin's in front of him as he stared down at them, the glowing light of the viewer shining through the images, making them easier to see. 

It was late at night, nearly twenty hours from his discovery of whom he was sharing a home with for the time being. Tim had remained at school long after most of the other students had left for the evening, wanting to finish off his film without anyone else really seeing it. He didn't want prying eyes on film that he didn't know what it could possibly contain. 

Now that he had it out in front of him, he saw it held photos from the tops of buildings in Gotham, artistic little shots of the world from so high above for the most part. There were a few peppered in between, an image of Robin with Nightwing, and an image of a boy that so closely resembled Robin's build that Tim had to assume that it was him without his face beat to a pulp and without his mask, standing beside none other than Dick Grayson. 

Tim sat back, his heart thumping in his chest as he made a quick connection in his mind, his heart wrenching as he recalled the headlines mourning a Wayne family loss, a child taken too early. He couldn't recall what the death had been listed as, but he knew it had been nearly a month from Robin going missing at the Bat's side. 

Flicking off the light, Tim packed away his film papers in his bag and picked up the sheets containing Robin's, heading into the darkroom once again. 

Setting to work, he began methodically printing each one that he thought looked like it would be useful, would lead him down an undeniable path, even printing out a few of the better pieces that overlooked Gotham, intent to find at least one of these to frame. Perhaps if Robin reacted favorably to one of them, he'd choose that one, keep it in his home as long as he had him as a house guest. 

He kept to the shadows as he moved down the street, heading for his house hours later. He was bone-tired, but perhaps more alert than he'd been the entire time in the locked photography building. While being taken hostage by some blundering dirtbag in Gotham hadn't changed some things at all, it had changed others for good, and one of those things was just how Tim walked between places. _He_ was the shadow, the thing that creeped past in the night, rather than the person darting from one well-lit place to the next. If for nothing else than because that made him a target, put him out there to be _seen_ , and Tim didn't like to be _seen_ anymore. Not after that night... not after Zsasz.

Slipping into his home, he did a cursory check, locked up everything, and then went through his nightly routine. Once again, he found the bathroom door ajar and he shot it an amused look, shaking his head as he pushed it the rest of the way open. "You come in to be with me, but you hide yourself... there's no point when I _know_ you're there."

Robin materialized beside the shower and Tim noted he was already in tatters tonight. Pushing his toothbrush into his mouth, he placed his hip against the counter and regarded the ghost, eyes sweeping over his wounds, the same as before, only seeming _repeated_ , the side of his skull caved in more than obvious now. 

Plucking his toothbrush from his mouth, he spit, rinsed, and then began to wash out the bristles. "You're safe here, Robin... whoever hurt you, they won't here. You're in _my_ place now." He tossed the brush into the cup on the back of the counter and wiped his hand over his mouth, rinsing it off and reaching past Robin to dry his hands. Their eyes met and he allowed himself a small smile. "You used to enjoy photography, didn't you?" 

Robin's flesh reformed, his skull becoming undamaged, the blood receding, and he took on a hopeful look. Tim turned, leading him out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. He sat down on the bed and pulled his binder out, flipping open to a very nice, general view of Gotham from up high. He showed it to Robin, watching him flicker and then solidify more than he had since Tim had seen him. 

He turned the page and Robin's hand was there, hovering above the page with Dick Grayson on it, and Tim saw _sadness_ in Robin's face. He kept flipping through the photos he'd processed, and watched as he became more and more _there_ as he did. Swallowing, Tim left it open to the one where Robin was standing with Nightwing, and picked up his phone, taking a single photo before searching for the kid's name who'd died, finding it and then settling his phone back in his lap, whispering out, "Jason."

He watched his head jerk up, saw recognition there, and then confusion. He flipped back a few pages, showed him the one of him with Dick Grayson, tapping it. "Richard Grayson, ward of Bruce Wayne. About a month after Robin disappeared off the streets, the Wayne family lost their newest family member... Jason Todd. It's not a hard deduction when I have you standing right in front of me, less difficult with what's nearly proof." He leaned back, watched the way Jason flickered nervously between nearly losing his form and his new solidity. "Don't worry, I won't reveal anything."

Tim reached for his shirt, gently tugging at the collar and lifting his chin to reveal the thin scar along his neck. "I'm a statistic, one of the ones forever indebted to every superhero in Gotham city limits... trust me." He let go of his collar and leaned forward, arms braced on his thighs. "Tell me, Jason, what is it that will put you at peace?"

He watched Jason's form flicker and then a stricken look cross his face, and Tim _knew_ that look. It had stared back at him from his own face for _months_ after Zsasz. He'd run from one place to another, from one life to another, and nothing had let him outrun it except _time_. Even now, there were days when he'd find that anguished layer beneath all the others if he looked hard enough. 

He pulled the image of Dick and Jason from his portfolio and pushed himself off of his bed, passing through Jason's chill to get to his dresser. Tucking the photo under the edge of the mirror's frame, he turned to look at Jason, gripping the dresser harder as he offered up a piece of himself in exchange for this photo. "It'll fade, eventually - the pain I mean - just like every photograph in this world will. Day by day, you _will_ heal."

Even as he spoke the words, Tim wasn't sure if he was talking to Jason... or to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: Album "Cataclasm" by Crywolf

It had been _weeks_ and Tim had - unfortunately - had to buckle down and get himself rooted in his classes rather than in trying to figure out what to do for Jason. As it was, Tim was almost convinced he _was_ doing what he needed to be anyway. 

He'd find Jason sitting in front of him on the floor, watching him as his pencil moved across the paper, busily scribbling out equations for his Physics class, had found him watching as his fingers tapped out early morning code onto his laptop screen, just barely skirting in under the three A. M. deadline. He found Jason peering over his shoulder as he speed-read both _On Photography_ and _The Symposium_ in only a couple of hours for each of his classes. 

When he finally moved on to dinner, Tim sat with his bowl of macaroni and cheese, spearing his fork through the noodles one at a time until the tines were full and then pulled them off between his teeth, watching Jason from under his lashes. Every once in a while, Jason would leave his side, flit over to his dresser, and then back, and Tim _knew_ he was staring at the photograph.

Setting his bowl aside, mostly empty, Tim stretched and shoved his books to the foot of the bed, shimmying down under the covers and tugging both of his blankets up over himself. He flicked off the light and watched as Jason's shadowy figure drifted closer and then dissipated before he closed his eyes.

Hours later, Tim woke to a crash, jerking upright in his bed and fumbling to right his glasses, squinting through the semi-darkness at the scattered bin of pencils that had been sitting on his nightstand. Jason flickered in and out of existence nearly on top of the mess and Tim could make out the most agonized look on his face, could see the way each time he flickered back, he was becoming more and more wounded. 

Sitting up, Tim turned on the light and held out both hands. "Jason... _Robin_ , you're safe... come here."

It took a minute, Tim's arms growing heavy before Jason stepped right up next to the bed and Tim sucked in a breath as Jason's coldness enveloped him for an instant and then it was gone. He turned, finding Jason sitting on the very back corner of his bed, knees drawn up and slickness on his cheeks that had nothing to do with blood. 

Tim swallowed down the thick feeling in his throat at the way Jason looked at him and settled back down in the bed. "You don't have to _leave_ when I sleep. Just stay here with me... I'm fine with it, okay?" He watched Jason nod, saw the cautious creep of hope in his vision, and he reached toward the light. "Is this alright?" Another little nod and he flicked it off. 

Sliding one foot out from under his covers, he moved it until he felt coldness caress his skin and he left it there, hoping somehow that it might just soothe Jason in the night.

\-----------

Tim had rolled onto his side some time ago, now lay watching Jason _sleep_. He'd never been sure if ghosts could sleep - or hell, if they were even real - but he supposed this answered it. Like this, Jason looked peaceful; as if all of his anguish had slipped away and he was holding onto some precious memory in the grips of his resting mind. 

He watched until his phone gave a soft trill, letting him know he needed to get up and start through his morning routine. He reached for it and when he looked back, he found Jason watching him from under the fringe of his hair that spilled down into his face. Tim plucked his glasses from the nightstand and pushed them on, letting the phone drop on the bed between them. "You should see yourself," he smiled, reaching to lightly slide his hand over the chill that was Jason's hair.

Drawing back, he rolled off the bed and padded off toward the bathroom. Once he was done with his routine, he came out to find Jason sitting there, eyes on the bed where Tim had been, and he inherently understood that he'd been like that most of the night. 

Tim picked up the camera, sliding it into his bag and Jason's head snapped around to look at him in alarm. "You'll probably have to come with me today, I imagine... have to take it to school and, well, I think you're bound to it."

Jason pushed off the bed, floated across the room to Tim, circled him once, and then disappeared. Tim felt the chill against his back and knew Jason had chosen to hitch his ride within the camera for the time being. 

The day at school was uneventful for the most part, Jason staying put in the camera and allowing Tim to do all the work he needed to with it. He stopped off at his weekly splurge shop for an order of fish and chips, settled himself into the booth and pulled up his phone. He sent off a text reply to a friend back in Gotham and started to swipe away when he felt the coldness beside him increase rapidly. He found Jason crouched on the seat beside him, saw how wide his eyes were, and he breathed out a soft, "What?" ensuring his voice was low enough only Jason would hear it.

Jason reached for his phone and curious, Tim held it out, watched as it changed to phone and numbers went in and it dialed. 

Heart thumping in his chest, Tim put the phone to his ear and waited, listening to it ring a handful of times before it slipped to voicemail and Tim listened to the melodic voice on the other end, light-hardheartedly announce, " _This is Dick! Don't be a dick and remember to leave a message!"_

Tim shot Jason a worried look as it clicked over to let him leave a message and finally, he stammered out, "Hi, uh... well, I don't think you actually know me, but my name is Tim Drake and I think... well, I think I have your... brother's camera. So maybe... call me back?"

He hit the end call button and gave Jason an odd look when he frantically tried to reach for the phone again. This time one of Tim's own contacts came up and dialed and Tim sighed, pushing it against his ear and waiting until the friend he'd been texting picked up, her excited voice coming through the phone. "Timmers, my man! Let's hear the sound of that ridiculous voice!"

Tim huffed out a laugh and quietly offered, "Steph, how's it goin'?"

He shifted his focus, watching how Jason was still tensed, watching somewhere beyond Tim for the time being and Tim kept Stephanie talking the whole time, slowly angling himself in a casual manner so he could see what Jason was seeing. His heart skipped a beat and instantly he was a hell of a lot more scared than he'd been a second before. 

Zsasz sat a few tables away from him, seeming to mind his own business for the time being, though Tim had no idea if he was there for him or if it was just coincidence. After all, they were _so_ far from Gotham, it was mind-blowing that he'd be sitting in the same restaurant as him. Fear flooded through his veins and he finally found a swell in the conversations around him, the other table laughing, and he whispered to Stephanie, "It's Zsasz, right here, in this restaurant with me."

He heard a breath of, "Oh God," and then the sound of Stephanie dialing on another phone and he did his best to cheerfully ask, "So... what're you up to?"

"Calling the damn cops, what do you think I'm doing?"

"Ahhh, other things. You know, like... costumes and Halloween shit, except... it's not Halloween, you know?" In all honesty, he couldn't believe he was keeping his chill as much as he was, or that he was pulling off the conversation this way. One glance at Jason told him he was about equally as amused, a little sparkle to his eyes even as he kept his face passive, stared right at Zsasz. 

"It's not like I have contact information for any of them or something, Tim! Best I can do is call GCPD and _hope_ they tell the right dude, right?"

"I... uh... have it. Sort of?" He pulled the phone away from his ear, quickly pulled up his last dialed numbers, took a screenshot and sent it off to Stephanie, putting the phone back against his ear. "Top one. If he asks, a pretty bird told me." He laughed. "You know, like how they used to say in old movies? Or was that broad?"

There was silence for a moment and then, "Jesus Tim, you may be too good at this." He could hear her dialing and every once in a while he nodded and made a soft sound to let her know he was still there, parroting how someone looked when they were paying attention to a long speech someone was making. He heard her offer up who she was and that her friend was in trouble and that it was Victor Zsasz. "Tim... where are you?"

"Oh yeah?" Tim hunched forward. "You wanna come? Got some fantastic fish and the fries are to die for, I know you like 'em thick... like steak fries?" He paused and huffed in a, "Yeah... yeah... Tito's Shrimp Shack over on Goldenrod and Tenth. Yeah! That's the one!"

He heard her parrot it back and then a quiet, "Thank you... you don't know what this means to me. Yeah, yeah, for sure." He heard the click of her phone and then, "Tim, stay on the line with me. Just make some comment about how I'm always like this, always wanting to yap while I'm walking or something."

Tim snorted and flopped back in his seat. "You just can't get enough of talking to me, can ya?" 

The rest of the conversation was incredibly trying for Tim and it grew harder and harder to keep himself from looking over at Zsasz until, _finally_ , two people slid into his booth. One of them, Tim recognized to be Dick Grayson, the other he didn't know. 

He murmured, "See you in a bit," into the phone and with a swell of raised voices from the other table, he tacked on, "Other guys are here, I'm good." He hung up the phone and looked right up into Dick's face, seeing the worry written there. 

"You called me, didn't you?" 

Tim nodded, glanced beside him and found that while the cold spot was still there, Jason wasn't actually visible at the moment. "I have your brother's camera. Not sure if you _meant_ to get rid of it or-"

"I didn't... it was stolen a few nights before," Dick's voice got a little choked up and he cleared his throat, "he passed. But... how could you have known?"

Tim changed a glance toward Zsasz just as someone grabbed him and they both popped out of existence, bills fluttering to the table to pay for his meal in the same instant. He shot the area an odd look and then sighed, pulling the camera out. "Film in it... power of deduction..." he pushed the camera to Dick, "the fact that his _ghost_ is in it."

At that, Jason appeared next to him again and he watched Dick's face contort in disbelief, and then right into grief. "He... didn't move on."

Tim shook his head. "No, but I've been... keeping him grounded, you know? Doing what I can."

"My number?"

Tim turned his phone on and pushed it in front of Jason, watching his hand slip into it and texts screen pull up, a words start appearing on the screen. When Jason was done, Tim turned the phone to Dick. "Like that."

Dick stared at the screen for a moment and then pushed his fist against his mouth and gave a little nod before dropping his hand back to the table. "I know, Jay. I - _we_ \- know who did it."

For a moment heat flared next to Tim and he shifted his focus to Jason, seeing the anguish, the _anger_ on his features and Tim reached out, pushed his hand right into the scalding hot mess, biting back a whine of pain. "Jason... _Robin_ , hey... I'm right here. Promised I would be, right and I _am_."

The heat started to drop and Tim kept his hand there, feeling the soothing chill of Jason's normal temperature caress his hand and wrist. Once it stopped hurting, he extracted it and glanced down, finding his hand a bit red, but no worse for the wear, and he carefully pulled out the binder with the film he'd developed, extracting the three pages and held them out to Dick. "His film... if you would like it."

As his hands went back into the bag, he could already feel his heart sinking, realized in such a short period of time he'd already grown _attached_ to Jason's presence in his life. All the same, he gently removed the camera, rewound the film inside into the canister and then popped the hatch, letting the film fall out into his palm. He tossed it in his bag and closed up the camera, turning it to examine the delicate inscription, thumb passing over it once before he settled the camera between them on the table, gently pushing it toward Dick. 

Tim felt cold air caress his arm and he turned to look up at Jason, finding a sad - but curious - look on his face and Tim gave him a soft smile. "I brought you back to your family, gave you back the one person you kept returning to look at." He reached to pass his fingers through Jason's ghostly hand, a bemused look on his face. "Wouldn't have been possible without you... but we did it."

He glanced back at Dick and murmured, "Zsasz?"

"Being dealt with." Dick touched his ear, tilted his head and Tim saw the small device tucked in his ear. 

It struck Tim then that there was something _more_ to this, something he couldn't put the pieces together on. He unlocked his phone and pushed it back toward Jason. "Tell me... how did you _know_ he was here for me?"

Jason's hand disappeared into the device and the words that appeared were simple.

_We saved you. Then and again. You're a smart one, baby *bird*, you should have known._

Tim had to take his breath in and hold it, lowering his eyes to study the table instead. He didn't miss the implication of the words Jason used to describe him, knew he'd watched him do all the research to figure out where he had come from, and honestly there was a little swell of pride at that. 

"You knew me..." Tim looked up and found Jason watching him, a small smile on his lips and he let out a quiet breath as he pushed himself up, tucking his binder back in and offering, "I'm gonna miss the hell out of you, Jason. But I need you to do something for me, for all of us. You saved me and now it's my turn to save you." He hitched the bag onto his back. "Find your light at the end of the tunnel or fly away or... whatever it is that you see to move on, because we all have to at some point. I have to move past what Zsasz did to me and you have to let go of your hatred for what happened to you. Let your beautiful soul be at peace... _please_."

Jason's form floated closer and then Tim was in his cold embrace, felt Jason's touch in a way he had yet to, could almost feel his hands on his back, his lips on his cheek, and then - just like that - he was gone, the white mist dissipating from existence. 

Tim turned to see the anguish in Dick's eyes, the way he looked absolutely forlorn and he skirted the table to press his hand against Dick's shoulder, squeezing it. "He was a good guy. I just... I hope he finds peace."

Dick gave him a small nod, reaching for the camera and then holding it out to Tim. "Photography student, right?"

Tim didn't ask how he'd known, knew somehow that Dick would have known even if he hadn't given him his full name. He gave a small nod.

"He would have wanted you to have it. It'll sit on my shelf and gather dust or it'll find new life in your hands." He gathered up the pages of film, holding them in his hands. "Thank you. Thank you for the closure and thank you for helping him move on."

Tim's grip increased and then he let go, giving a single nod of his head as he turned away, camera in hand, held close to his body. "I'll give him the best memory I possibly can with this camera. I'll show the world who Timothy Drake can be and every ounce of it will be for _him_. I promise you that."

He heard Dick's breath hitch and he could feel the wetness gathering in the corner of his eyes as he put one foot in front of the other, as he left the restaurant and stepped out into the busy little world that was this city, and for one instant... he actually missed Gotham. But this... _this_ was a whole new world.

**Author's Note:**

> This will have 5 chapters!


End file.
